A day in my life, part one

Now that it is hot season, I sleep outside except when it is raining. I never sleep very well because there’s noise throughout the night – my host playing loud Malian music until midnight and chatting with his friends outside, donkeys braying at every hour, and the odd rooster who doesn’t seem to know it’s nighttime. But it’s better than being inside where it’s so hot you never stop sweating. I wake up with the sun and the roosters. The other day a rooster was standing on the wall that separates my area of the property from my host family’s. This rooster was crowing so loud that I threw a shoe at it. That quieted him down for about 30 seconds.

When I wake up, most of the family has already been up for a while. The women wake up especially early so they can cook breakfast and lunch for the school children. First they pull water from the well, finish pounding the millet, then cook the ceri or millet porridge we eat for breakfast. I put on a pot of water to boil for coffee using my gas camping stove, whereas the women do all their cooking using firewood that they collect daily in the bush surrounding our house. When the ceri’s ready, I go over to the kitchen area and greet the old women of the house, Babo and Nyakuruni, two co-wives of a man who passed away, my host’s father. Every morning they give me a long string of blessings in Bambara. My Malian name is Sali:

Babo: Good morning.
Sali: Good morning.
Babo: Did you have a peaceful night?
Sali: Peace only.
Babo: How is your family?
Sali: Peace only.
Babo: How is your host?
Sali: No problems.
Babo: How are his wives?
Sali: No problems.
Babo: How are his children?
Sali: No problems.
(Note that my host’s wife and children are generally standing a few feet away while this questioning is going on.)
Babo: May God grant you a peaceful day.
Sali: Amen.
Babo: May God give you strength.
Sali: Amen.
Babo: May God protect you from evil things.
Sali: Amen.
Babo: May God give you breasts. (Meaning may you have many children.)
Sali: (reluctantly) Amen.
Babo: May God make peace between you and your husband. (Meaning future husband.)
Sali: (reluctantly) Amen.
Babo: May God make your work develop.
Sali: (enthusiastically) Amen.
Babo: May God make your studies develop.
Sali: (enthusiastically) Amen.

When this is done, I take my piping-hot bowl full of millet porridge back to my house, let it cool, and add peanut butter for a little protein and flavor. Malians eat their ceri plain or with sour milk. Sometimes, Malians will eat breakfast after they have already watered their garden or done some work in the field. Their breakfast is accompanied by strong, sugary green tea that they brew three times.

The morning is a time I like to have to myself, sitting in my separate area of the compound eating my porridge and listening to the BBC. Of course, it’s not that separate and I often have little visitors wander in (my host’s kids), as well as any Malians who have a message to give me about work (to which I begrudgingly grumble a response ), or who just want to say good morning. Then I take my ‘bucket bath’ (each time I bathe I pull water from the well and scoop it over me – no plumbing in Koyan!).

My days are extremely varied. Sometimes I have no definite work to do and I spend my time washing clothes, cleaning my house, reading books, writing letters, and playing with my host’s kids. Washing clothes is pretty tiring since it involves pulling lots of water from the well and scrubbing the clothes on a washboard. Sometimes it’s so hot I can’t do anything but sleep or read.

At least once a week, I attend a meeting. The school management committee meets almost every Tuesday, all the women of Koyan meet up once a month (they base their meetings on the lunar month), the students’ mothers association meets about once a month, and there are other meetings that come up.

My means of transportation is the bicycle. Many of the men in Koyan have mopeds and people don’t understand why I don’t have one or ride other people’s. It is a Peace Corps rule for the sake of safety. Sometimes it is very frustrating and I just wish I could hop on a moped and get somewhere quickly, but I really like the solidarity it creates between me and the less wealthy villagers that I use the same mode of transportation as them. As I ride my bike through Koyan, all the kids in the village run out onto the street or just wave at me and yell “Sali, Saliii, SALLLIII!” until I respond. You’d think they’d get tired of this but they just don’t. They’re still in awe of the one white person in the village.

To be continued.